


Jaime Lannister Investigations - Episode 5 of 13

by ShirleyAnn66



Series: Jaime Lannister Investigations [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cold Case - Freeform, F/M, Gen, Modern AU, Remington Steele AU, non-graphic discussions of domestic abuse, non-graphic discussions of murder and blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyAnn66/pseuds/ShirleyAnn66
Summary: Series Summary:The great detective, Jaime Lannister? He doesn’t exist. I invented him. It was working like a charm—until the day he walked in, with his green eyes and mysterious past.Episode 5:Close on the heels of the successful conclusion of the case in Lannisport, Daenerys Targaryen decides it's time for some closure on a tragedy in her family's past:  the murder of her sister-in-law, Elia Martell Targaryen.





	1. Teaser

Awesome banner by the equally awesome justme. :)

***/*/*/*/***

“Brienne Tarth speaking.”

“I call you every night before I go to sleep, Brienne, and you _still_ don’t recognize my number?”

“...Jaime?”

“Do you have somebody else who calls you every night before they go to sleep?”

“Of course not, you idiot!  But why are you calling now?”

“Maybe I missed the sound of your voice.”

“You’re right next door!”

“And I’m bored—oh.  Hello.”

Jaime looks impossibly handsome sitting behind his desk and his smile is teasingly charming in response to her glare.  His smile only widens as they both lower their phones.

“You could have just walked to my office!”

“Where’s the fun in that?”  He tosses the phone on the desk and leans back in his chair.  “Entertain me.”

Brienne rolls her eyes, turns on her heels and stomps back to her office, ignoring Bronna and Sam’s amused and interested stares.  She also ignores Jaime following close behind.

“We definitely need to work on your ability to recognize a double entendre,” Jaime says cheerfully.

“You are so annoying,” she mutters.

“And yet so endearing.”

She grits her teeth and forcibly stops herself from growling.  “I am actually working, Jaime!”

“Really?” he says brightly and throws himself into one of the chairs facing her desk.  “And you’re not sharing?  What are you working on?”

“One of those insurance fraud cases you find so boring,” she snaps.

“Oh,” he says, disappointed.  He frowns then sighs.  “Never let it be said I’m not a team player.”  He leans forward.  “Is there something I can do to help?”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.  “You really are bored.”

He smirks.  “At least at the moment, and if an insurance fraud case is all we have, well—”

They hear a discreet chime as the main door to their offices opens.  They straighten, listening to the low murmur of voices as Bronna greets their visitor.

Their eyes meet, and Brienne knows the gleam she sees in Jaime’s eyes is reflected in her own.

“Saved by the bell,” Jaime murmurs.

They stare at each other for another suspended moment, then both explode into motion as they race for her office door.

*/*/*/*/*

They manage to revert to a dignified pace by the time they come into view of the front desk, and their eyes widen when they recognize their visitor.

“Dany,” Jaime says as he shakes her hand, “this is a surprise!”

“Jaime, it’s good to see you,” Daenerys Targaryen says with a strained smile as she turns and shakes Brienne’s hand.  “And you as well, Brienne.”

“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon,” Brienne says.

“Well, the work you did a couple of weeks ago on that case in Lannisport impressed me a great deal, and it got me thinking.”

“Oh?” Brienne says with a frown.  “About what?”

Daenerys glances at Bronna and an obviously star-struck Sam and Brienne quickly says, “These are our most trusted associates, Bronna Stokeworth and Sam Tarly.  You can speak freely in front of them but if you’d like, we can go into the boardroom.”

Dany gives Sam and Bronna a distracted smile then frowns.  “Bronna Stokeworth?  Weren’t you engaged to Joffrey Baratheon?”

Bronna rolls her eyes. “Unfortunately.”

A smile flits across Dany’s face.  “Well, I see he’s engaged himself to that Stark girl who was with him in Lannisport—”

“What?” Brienne sputters. “When?”

Daenerys shrugs.  “I saw a raven about it on my Rookery feed while I was on the way here.”

“Oh, gods,” Bronna groans.

“Well,” Jaime says briskly, “be that as it may, I somehow doubt you came here to tell us about their engagement, as ill-conceived as it may be.”

“True,” Dany says.

“So, why are you here?” Brienne says.

“I want you to solve a murder.”

Brienne and Jaime exchange a startled look, memories of Jon Arryn flitting through their minds.

“Yours?” Jaime asks.

Dany’s eyes widen.  “What?  Of course not!  I’m talking about my brother’s wife, Elia.”

*/*/*/*/*

Daenerys looks grimly determined as Jaime places a cup of coffee in front of her before he sits beside Brienne across the boardroom table.

Dany thanks him and says, “I suspect you both already know the general details of Elia’s death.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange glances and Brienne slowly says, “I believe I do, yes.”

Dany’s smile is fleeting.  “Of course,” she murmurs.  “You’re the one who found Rhaegar’s son.”

Brienne’s smile is just as fleeting. “Technically, I found Jon’s father.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Would either of you care to enlighten me?”

Dany smiles and Brienne thinks she truly is incredibly beautiful. 

Dany says, “I’m sorry, Jaime.  This is a subject that is very painful in my family and is held very close to our hearts.  Not that I know much, of course.”  She takes a deep breath.  “You know of my brother, Rhaegar?”

“Of course.  Star of stage and screen, largely considered to be the best actor of his generation, on the verge of superstardom until—oh.”

Dany nods.  “‘Oh’ is right.  I believe his career would have survived the scandal of his affair with the Stark girl, but not poor Elia…”  She pauses for a moment, lifting her cup to her lips with a trembling hand.  She takes a sip of coffee then gives them a determined smile.  “I don’t really know why it bothers me so much; I was only about a year old when she was killed.  Mayhaps it’s because I’ve only ever known my brother as the ruined man he became beneath the weight of grief and suspicion.  I think I weep more for what might have been than out of any true grief for a woman I never knew.”  She shakes her head then she lifts her chin with a determined air and continues.

“Twenty-six years ago, my brother’s wife, Elia, was murdered in an incredibly brutal way.  Suspicion, naturally, fell upon Rhaegar:  he was Elia’s husband; he was having an affair with Lyanna Stark, the younger sister of Eddard Stark, the current Chief of Police; Rhaegar’s only alibi for the time of the murder was Lyanna’s word, and not long after, Lyanna herself disappeared…and, of course, there’s our father’s history.”  She grimaces.  “There was also a substantial life insurance policy.  The Gold Cloaks’ theory was Rhaegar wanted to marry Lyanna but knew he would end up paying Elia a large amount of alimony.  He wanted a new wife, a new life, and all of his money, so he simply decided murder was easier than divorce.”

Jaime frowns.  “And you want us to prove your brother innocent?”

“I want you to discover the truth.  I believe my brother is innocent…but Rhaegar didn’t want me to come here and Viserys is even more adamant that I shouldn’t reopen old wounds.  They say it’s been twenty-five years and we should let Elia sleep in peace in the arms of the Stranger.”  She sighs.  “And with our father’s history…I simply can’t help but have doubts.  While I would love if you proved Rhaegar innocent…what I truly want is to finally _know_.”

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** I don’t think I’m the first one to use ravens/Rookery as a stand-in for tweets/Twitter…but I can’t remember if or where I saw it. So generic shout-out to whoever came up with it first and I hope you don’t mind that I’ve borrowed it. :)


	2. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Rape mention.  Jaime/Cersei mentions…if that needs to be warned for – LOL.

***/*/*/*/***

Brienne buzzes Jaime’s apartment and makes her way to his door with a thoughtful scowl on her face.  Her stomach growls as the smell of the Dornish takeaway she’s carrying wafts to her nose, but her mind is still worrying at the case Daenerys Targaryen left in their hands earlier in the day.

Jaime’s door is already open and she gives him a distracted nod as she brushes past him.

“I’ve been reading my old case notes,” she says as she heads to his dining room.  “Specifically the notes I made when I was looking for Jon Snow’s mother.”

“Really?” Jaime says, a thread of amusement in his voice as he follows her.  “And what did you find in them?”

“Nothing,” Brienne says then stops short as the table settings finally register on her consciousness.  She blinks owlishly at the pristine linen tablecloth, the delicate silverware, the even more delicate dishes, the candles, the wine glasses.  Horrified realization creeps over her and she spins round, glaring.  “For the gods’ sake, Jaime!  Couldn’t you have cancelled your date with Cersei just this once?”

Jaime amused expression turns confused then even more amused.  “I didn’t have a date with Cersei to cancel,” he drawls as he prowls towards her.  “I haven’t seen her since Jon Arryn died.”

He takes the bags of food from her unresisting hand and carries them into the kitchen.  It takes a moment before Brienne can shake herself out of her stupor to follow him.

She finds him whistling cheerfully as he unpacks the food.

“Ah, good,” he says, “you can help me dish up.”

She scowls, her arms folded, her foot tapping.  “You haven’t seen Cersei since Jon Arryn died?”

He quirks an eyebrow at her.  “I just said that, didn’t I?”

“And you didn’t tell me this earlier because...?”

He shrugs.  “Because it didn’t seem to be something I needed to tell you on an emergency basis.  Besides, Cersei finds me when she wants me; it’s true I haven’t seen her in weeks but she could call me or walk through my doorway in the next five minutes.  Resetting the clock gets tiring after a while.”

He shrugs at her incredulous expression and says, “If you help, we can be eating sooner rather than later.”  He lifts his gold hand with a speaking look.

Brienne blinks then moves to help him, the scowl still firmly on her face.

*/*/*/*/*

They dole out the food in silence and Jaime wonders why he went to the effort to set the table in such a blatantly romantic fashion.  He glances at Brienne and tells himself he did it because it would be a change for her; Hyle didn’t exactly strike him as particularly romantic and he wonders if the man remembers to open the door for her.  He scowls at the thought.

“What’s the matter?” she asks.

He quickly smooths his expression.  “Nothing, except I hope you like Dornish wine—and can force yourself to have a glass with dinner.”

She blinks those remarkable eyes at him before she says, primly, “A glass of wine would be lovely, thank you.”

He carefully pours them each a glass and thinks how much easier this would be if he could reveal to her that he actually has his hand.  Once she got over her anger, it would make things so much more comfortable—at least when they’re alone.  He glances at her warily suspicious face and thinks it might take several years before her anger at his deception waned.  Besides, she’s here to talk about the case.  This is _definitely_ not the right time to spring that revelation on her.

He lifts his glass in a toast and watches as she takes a delicate sip then closes her eyes as she savors the taste.  A smile curves her too-plump lips as she hums a little with pleasure and he’s suddenly very grateful he’s already sitting down.

She opens her eyes and flushes a little.  She ducks her head, hastily lowers the wine glass and says, “Like I said, I went through the case notes I made while I was tracking down Jon’s mother.”

“And ended up finding his father instead,” Jaime says.

“As well, you mean,” Brienne says and takes a bite of food.

He raises an eyebrow.  “I take it that means the rumors are true:  Lyanna Stark really did have Rhaegar Targaryen’s son.”

Brienne nods.  “Ned Stark had kept the truth well hidden, even from Catelyn, claiming Jon as his own son.  It wasn’t until Catelyn hired me to find Jon’s mother that we discovered the truth.”  She grimaces.  “Ned was not pleased, either with me or with Catelyn.”

“Why did he go to such lengths to hide the truth?  Even twenty-six or so years ago there wasn’t nearly the same stigma attached to illegitimate births as there were in centuries past.”

“I’m not sure,” Brienne says thoughtfully and takes another sip of wine.  “My services were no longer needed once I proved Jon’s parents were Lyanna and Rhaegar instead of Ned and some unknown woman.”

“You must have some educated guesses.”

“Well, now I do.”  She sighs.  “What do you know of the story?”

“Only what I’ve seen in the tabloids, whenever they want to stir up old scandals.  I would have been around seventeen, and I was already a fan of the Targaryen acting dynasty, but I don’t think we were in Westeros when Elia was murdered or in the months that followed.  I think I would have remembered that scandal!”

Brienne chokes a little on her food.  “You’re forty-three?” she sputters.

Jaime shrugs.  “More or less, I think.”  He smirks and leans forward.  “Too old for you, Brienne?”

She blushes.  “It doesn’t matter to me,” she mutters then blushes even deeper.  “I mean, it has no impact on me...I mean...”

He chuckles then decides to have mercy on her and leans back in his chair.

“You, on the other hand,” he drawls, “ would have been a mere babe in your mother’s arms.”

Brienne’s relief is palpable.  “Almost:  I was four.  The details of the scandal are vague, of course, but it’s something I just always knew without being told about.  Most likely because my parents were huge fans of Big Bobby B’s, and his career was at its height when everything went to the seven hells.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow as he chews a bite of food.  He swallows and says, “And Robert Baratheon is involved how, exactly?”

Brienne frowns.  “You should know this, Jaime:  he was married to Lyanna Stark when she had her affair with Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Jaime freezes.  “By the gods,” he whispers, “that’s right.”  He shakes his head.  “Cersei always refers to her by...much less flattering terms than her name.  Robert still mourns his first wife to this day, or so Cersei tells me.”

“Lyanna’s affair and subsequent disappearance ruined Robert’s career, you know.  He didn’t come back onto the world stage until the Baratheon Brothers exploded onto the scene.”  Brienne’s smile is fleeting.  “Plus he couldn’t remarry until he divorced Lyanna, by proxy, I understand, since no one has ever found her.”

“Not even you?”

Brienne frowns.  “Not even me.  Ned Stark put a quick end to my services once I proved Jon was Lyanna’s son.  I never discovered what happened to her.”

“Only that she obviously had Jon after her disappearance.”

Brienne shrugs and nods.

They eat in thoughtful silence then Jaime puts down his fork, picks up his wine and leans back in his chair.  “Do you think she’s still alive?”

Brienne blinks her magnificent eyes as she ponders the question.  “Unlikely,” she says.  “From what little I learned of her, she would not have simply abandoned her son.”

“Unless it was too dangerous to return.”

She frowns.  “How so?”

“There are a multitude of possibilities.  For example, if Rhaegar did murder Elia and Lyanna knew about it, she could have gone into hiding because she knew too much.  If he killed once, he could kill again.”

She nods, a thoughtful look on her face as she sips her wine.

“She might have been afraid that Robert would be angry enough to kill her in a fit of rage,” she says.

“We’ve certainly witnessed first-hand how he lashes out.”

Brienne winces and touches her cheek where Robert’s fist had left her bruised.  Jaime’s fingers tighten round the stem of his wineglass.

“I should have stopped him,” he growls.

“It’s a good thing you and Ned were holding him back.  He probably would have broken Cersei’s jaw if he’d had his full weight behind him and managed to land the blow.”

Jaime frowns.  “I was talking about stopping him from hitting you.”

She blinks again, eyes as wide and startled as a doe’s as a flush slowly reddens her cheeks.  “Everything happened so fast,” she mutters and looks away.

Jaime hums a little then says, “So, we also have Robert as a potential threat to Lyanna.  And then, of course, there are the Martells.”

“The Martells?”

“If Rhaegar killed Elia and the Martells knew it, they could have targeted Lyanna in revenge.”

Brienne frowns.  “That’s absurd.  Doran Martell is the Prince of Dorne!”

“He’s also the head of the largest criminal organization in Westeros.”

Brienne’s jaw drops and Jaime can almost see her mind racing.

“Those are just rumors,” she finally says.

“There’s no evidence that would hold up in court, that’s true, but believe me:  it’s more than just rumors.”

Her eyes narrow.  “And you know this...how?”

Jaime simply raises an eyebrow as he sips his wine.

She rolls her eyes.  “All right,” she says, “I’ll concede the point.  But we’ve strayed far from the case we’ve actually been hired to solve, and that’s _Elia’s_ murder, not Lyanna’s disappearance.”

Jaime nods as he puts down his wine and once again picks up his fork.  “I’ve been reading the tabloids since Dany left us and scouring the web for the conspiracy theories.”

Brienne rolls her eyes again.  “Such wonderfully reliable sources for an investigation,” she says drily.

“Even the craziest of conspiracy theorists sometimes hits on real evidence; they just willfully misinterpret it.”  He takes a bite of food and thoughtfully chews.  “Are we going to be allowed access to the case file?”

Brienne snorts.  “Not if Ned Stark has his way,” she says.

“Which brings us back to Lyanna Stark and whatever it is Ned was so desperate to hide.”

He catches his breath and his gaze meets her.

“Lyanna was behind it?” he all but whispers.

“Elia was also raped,” Brienne whispers back.

“Doesn’t mean Lyanna couldn’t have hired someone to do it for her.”

Brienne closes her eyes, almost in prayer, before she sighs.  “You’re right,” she says.  She opens her eyes and blinks at him, and his heart lurches a little at the disappointed determination on her face.  “But we also have two men who are far more likely suspects.”

Jaime nods.  “Rhaegar.”

“And his father, Aerys.  Aerys and his wife, Rhaella, were living in the same house as Rhaegar and Elia.”

Jaime frowns.  “Aerys Targaryen?  What possible motive could he have?”

“He’s in an insane asylum after almost murdering his wife.  What more motive does he need?”

“True,” Jaime murmurs.  He sighs.  “We need to see the case file.”

“I know.  And then we need to talk to Rhaegar.”

“I know.”  He pours them both more wine in thoughtful silence, then says, “If you work on getting the case file, I’ll work on getting access to Rhaegar.”

She picks up her glass.  “I somehow think I have the easier task,” she says drily and takes a sip.

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime walks Brienne to the door and says, “This wasn’t such a bad way to work out a plan for the case.”

“No,” she says, then frowns.  “Although we could have done this just as easily at the office.”

He smirks.  “You need to get away from that office sometimes, Brienne; it gets the juices flowing.”

He watches with interest as she slowly flushes, and he thinks she might be improving her ability to recognize a double entendre when she hears one.

“Right,” she says, suddenly brisk, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, she opens the door and practically bolts from the apartment.

Jaime watches her hurry away and it’s not until she turns the corner to the elevators that he steps back into his apartment and closes the door.  As he wanders to the dining room to pour himself one last glass of wine he wonders, and not for the first time, what it is about Brienne that draws him towards her...especially when there’s always Cersei lurking in the back of his mind.

He carries his glass into the living room and relaxes on to the couch.  His gold hand catches the light and he scowls as he looks at it.

So many secrets and lies and shadows, he thinks, and only Brienne’s guileless blue eyes to guide the way.

*/*/*/*/*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**   Well, this episode is definitely not going the way I thought it would… o.O  I'm just hoping I haven't just jossed my own continuity...On the other hand, the muse is running on all cylinders – LOL – although I’m going to try to focus on editing my novel for the next couple of days instead of writing this episode.


	3. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Non-graphic discussions of murder and blood and domestic abuse.  Not even sure it’s worth warning about, especially in this fandom, but just in case.
> 
> **A/N1:**   This episode is NOT turning out the way I expected AT ALL.  Which isn’t a complaint—LOL—it’s just a constant surprise to me (and meant I needed to reshuffle the rest of the episodes ;) ).

  ***/*/*/*/***

Brienne nervously waits for Chief Eddard Stark to be available to see her and wonders if she’s just wasting her time.  Then again, she thinks hopefully, it’s been several years since she discovered Jon’s true parentage; mayhaps whatever reason Ned Stark had for hiding Jon’s paternity has finally been resolved.

Thankfully, she doesn’t have long to worry; Ned calls her into the office and she makes her request, stumbling over her words as she watches his expression turn colder and colder.

Ned stares at her when she finishes and Brienne does her best not to fidget beneath the weight of his gaze.  Finally, he says, “You want me to give you unprecedented access to one of our case files?”

She lifts her chin and her gaze doesn’t waver from his.  “The case has been cold for twenty-six years, Chief Stark.  Has anyone even looked at the Elia Martell Targaryen case in the last decade?”

His eyelid twitches but his expression doesn’t change.  “King’s Landing’s City Watch policy is that access to all case files is restricted to those officers and detectives currently on the force.”

“That’s policy, not law,” Brienne says.  “Other City Watches allow private investigators full access when the cases have been officially declared cold, the proper paperwork is submitted, and the proper permissions have been granted.  King’s Landing’s City Watch is the only one I know of that does not allow access at all...and that policy has only been in place since _you_ became Chief.”

The temperature of the room seems to drop several degrees as Ned’s expression goes from cold to icy.

“Are you accusing me of something, Ms Tarth?” he growls.

“Pointing out a fact, Chief Stark, that’s all.”  She leans forward.  “I don’t know the reasons behind the policy, but we’ve been hired to look into the murder of Elia Martell Targaryen and see if we can solve it.  Our best first step is, naturally, to review the case files and speak to the investigating officers.”  She softens.  “This has nothing to do with your sister, Ned.”  She feels her cheeks flush and hopes he doesn’t notice.

For the first time, he shifts his gaze away then back again.  “I would deny my concern has anything to do with Lyanna but I somehow doubt you would believe me.”

“Did you implement the policy specifically to control access to Elia’s case?”

Ned sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “Yes, because every two-bit reporter and conspiracy theorist in town kept clamoring for access.  It was a pain in the ass when I was a detective; it was even more of a pain in the ass when I became Chief.  No murder, no matter how sensational, should be treated solely as an excuse for a byline or a best-seller or to fuel vicious crackpot theories.”

Brienne gives him a slight smile.  “We’re not two-bit reporters or authors or conspiracy theorists.  You know who we are.”

He deflates.  “You’re right,” he mutters, “and I am usually more reasonable with these requests than this.  All I can offer as an excuse is that Lysa’s and Jon’s deaths are weighing heavily on all of us.  We also have Sweet Robin, of course, and he’s struggling to understand that his parents are never coming home.”  He grimaces suddenly.  “And then Sansa’s sudden engagement to Joffrey Baratheon is sending Catelyn into another tailspin and Arya is threatening to come home and...I don’t know...scream some sense into Sansa or something.”

“Joffrey doesn’t have the best reputation,” Brienne murmurs, trying to keep her voice neutral.

“My Gold Cloaks have arrested him enough times so believe me, I know!  I also heard about Bronna Stokeworth’s black eye.”  He scowls.  “Sansa swears Joffrey’s been nothing but loving and kind to her and I have no reason to doubt her word.”

“Do you want me to see if she would listen to Bronna?” Brienne asks.

“If I thought it would do any good,” Ned says with a rueful sigh, “but Sansa doesn’t give up her illusions easily.  I only hope she’s right and she won’t end up with a broken heart.”  Ned shakes his head and says, “But you’re here on business, not to listen to my personal concerns.”

“Catelyn is very precious to me,” Brienne says, “and to be honest, it’s because of my past history with your family that I’m asking you to trust us—to trust _me_ —with Elia’s case file.”  She leans forward again.  “It’s been twenty-six years since she was murdered; doesn’t Elia deserve to have somebody at least try and find some justice for her?”

Ned stares, his jaw set, for another long moment, then he relaxes.  “You’re right,” he says.  He taps his finger on his desk.  “I’ll give you and your agency full access to the case file.  Once I’ve given the order, I’ll be officially recusing myself from any further conversations or activities about the case; you will need to go through Randyll Tarly.”

Brienne can’t quite hide a grimace and Ned flashes her a quick smile.

“I know it’s not ideal, but because of Lyanna’s affair with Rhaegar Targaryen...”  He shakes his head.  “If you’re lucky enough to solve the case and you find enough evidence for it to go to trial, there can be no hint of any conflict of interest.”  He lifts a hand in warning.  “However, I expect you to keep this as confidential as possible.  If the tabloids get any whiff that you’re looking into this case, you won’t be able to move thanks to the reporters dogging your every step.”

She nods as she stands.  “No one will hear about this from us, Chief Stark,” she says.  “If you can arrange for a copy of the file to be couriered to our offices that would be appreciated.  We’ll arrange a time later to examine the physical evidence.”

Chief Stark nods and stands as well.  He hesitates then holds out his hand.  “I know Detective Tarly is not your biggest fan, but I hope you understand the position I’m in,” he says.  “I want you to know that I truly wish you better luck than we’ve had with the case.”

She shakes his hand and says, “I understand completely, Chief Stark.”  She smiles.  “Please give Catelyn my best and I hope she won’t hesitate to call me if she needs to talk.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime doesn’t tell her how he managed to gain access to Rhaegar Targaryen, and after a moment of obvious struggle, she also doesn’t ask.  It leaves him amused for the entire ride to the Targaryen estate.

They drive through a gate bracketed by solid red brick walls and up a long roadway that ends in sweeping curve in front of a house that can only be described as palatial, although the building is not nearly as delicately built as that word would imply.

“I understand why the Targaryens nicknamed this the Red Keep,” Brienne murmurs.

“But not within earshot of the royal family, I suspect,” Jaime says drily.  “No one wants a Targaryen—even if they’re not truly from that historic family anymore—back on the throne, even metaphorically.”

Her smile is fleeting but it makes her eyes sparkle.  “No argument there,” she says, and gets out of the car.

*/*/*/*/*

The man who answers the door is middle-aged, handsome, distinguished, and dressed all in white...which should have looked ridiculous, yet Jaime has to admit the man manages to carry it off.

“Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth,” Brienne says briskly.  “We have an appointment to see Rhaegar Targaryen.”

The man flicks cold eyes over them both then steps aside.  “He’s expecting you,” he says with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.  “Follow me.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange bemused looks as they do as ordered.

The man leads them to a set of closed double doors that he opens with a dramatic flourish.

“Jaime Lannister and Brienne Tarth,” he announces in stentorian tones and Jaime bites down on his lip to keep from laughing out loud.

“Yes, yes, bring them in, thank you, Arthur.”

They step into the room to find a slender man in his fifties relaxing in an armchair surrounded by five men, all of whom are also dressed in white.  Rhaegar Targaryen seems almost suspended in time, his world-famous indigo eyes as mesmerizing as ever, although Jaime notices a slightly vague look in them.  Rhaegar still wears his silver hair long, as he did during the height of his success, and his clothes, shot through with lines of gold, orange and red, are the only colour in the sea of white.  As they consider each other in silence, Rhaegar languidly lifts the glass he’s holding to his mouth and drinks. 

Finally he says, “My sweet sister speaks highly of you, Mr. Lannister, and, Ms Tarth, I am forever grateful that you connected me with my son, who had been so cruelly hidden from me.  Those are the only reasons I’ve agreed to meet with you.  Elia has long been resting in the arms of the Stranger; we should not disturb her peace on a mere whim.”

“How much peace can Elia find if the Father has not yet rendered justice on her behalf?” Brienne asks, her voice sharp.

Rhaegar’s six companions bristle but Rhaegar waves their anger away.

“The Gold Cloaks and the reporters and the Martells have all buzzed round like flies for the last twenty plus years and have not been able to definitively determine who murdered my sweet wife.  What makes you think you will be able to do any better?”

A muscle jumps in Brienne’s clenched jaw and Jaime quickly steps forward and says, “Because we will devote our time to pursuing the case.  Plus the world has changed dramatically since Elia was killed; who knows what new evidence will be revealed using new techniques?”

The silence between the seven men deepens as they exchange glances and Jaime mentally raises an eyebrow.

Finally, Rhaegar sighs and blinks sleepily.  “What would you have from me?”

“A seat,” Jaime says, his voice honey smooth, “and for you to answer our questions.”

One of the men scowls—big and beefy, grizzled and wrinkled—and takes a threatening step towards him.

“Gerold,” Rhaegar says, his voice sharp.  “Mr. Lannister is right to call us on our rudeness.  Take the others and leave us.”

“Boss—”

Rhaegar raises his hand and says, “We’ll be all right.  You can all stand outside the door, if it pleases you, and rush to my rescue if it seems needed.”

Gerold glares then bows his head.  The five other men silently follow him from the room, with Arthur giving Jaime and Brienne a warning glare as he quietly closes the double doors.

Rhaegar gives Jaime and Brienne a rueful smile.  “They’ll be standing with their ears pressed to the door,” he says, waving them towards the sofa across from him.  “They take very good care of me.”

“Why the white outfits?” Jaime asks, honestly curious.

“A conceit of my sweet father’s.  My grandfather took the name of Targaryen as his stage name, and my father decided a king’s name deserved a king’s guard, even if even he did not quite dare to call them so.  All of these men served my father long before they ever served me.”  He gives them a half-smile.  “But you haven’t come here for us to speak solely about my Valyrian Company.  Ask your questions and I shall do my best to answer them.”

Brienne pulls out a notebook and pen and says, “Tell us about your relationship with Elia.”

“It was pleasant enough, but lacked passion.”

“Was it always that way?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t, but it’s difficult to remember now.”  He shrugs.  “It was a long time ago.”

“Did you love her?”

He huffs a chuckle.  “I believe we married more to please our parents than ourselves. My father and her mother were old friends.  I didn’t mind very much; she was sweet and pretty and biddable; shy and quiet, and was content to let me pursue my acting and music and my own interests.”  He frowns.  “She was more frail than I expected before we married, or mayhaps the two babies she lost took a heavier toll than anyone expected. Either way, whatever fire may have lurked beneath her placid surface when we met was firmly doused by the time she died.”

Jaime sees Brienne’s lips tighten and says, “How did Elia react when she discovered your affair with Lyanna Baratheon?”

Rhaegar shrugs.  “With resignation.  She certainly never asked me to end the affair.”

“Where were you the day she was murdered?”

Rhaegar shrugs.  “I was here, in King’s Landing.  I had just finished a photo shoot for my latest movie—my _last_ movie, it turned out—and returned to my apartments here in the east wing to find a scene of unspeakable carnage.”  He shudders almost delicately.  “It was obvious she had been beaten about the head.  There was blood everywhere and there was no doubt she was dead when I found her.”

“Was anyone else in the house at the time?”

Rhaegar’s smile is bitter and fleeting.  “Look at the size of this place; of course there were other people here!”

“Humor us,” Jaime says with a tight-lipped smile.  “We need names.”

Rhaegar lazily blinks then says, “Well...my parents.  By then my father seldom left his apartments and he liked to keep my mother and siblings always nearby, so they would have been with him.  And the Valyrian Company would have been in various places throughout the house, of course.”

“Their names?” Brienne asks briskly.

“And where are they now?” Jaime adds.

“You’ve seen most of them; we value loyalty in this family and try to keep those we trust as close as possible.  Arthur Dayne is the one who met you at the door; Gerold Hightower was the one ready to throw you out, Mr. Lannister.  The others are Barristan Selmy, Gwayne Gaunt, Jonothor Darry, Oswell Whent, and Lewyn Martell.”

“Martell?” Jaime says, his voice sharp.

“Some relative or another to Elia.  He was a member of my father’s Valyrian Company long before I married Elia and, as far as I know, had very little to do with her.”

“All right,” Brienne says, nodding as she scribbles in her notebook, “anyone else?”

Rhaegar frowns, thinking, then says, “Oh, Harlan Grandison, of course.  He was also a member of the Valyrian Company.  He died a couple of years after Elia’s murder but before my father’s...unfortunate fate.”

Brienne’s head snaps up and she glares.  “Your father almost beat your mother to death,” she says, her voice flat and cold.  “I’m not certain how being locked in an insane asylum after committing such a crime is an ‘unfortunate fate’.”

Rhaegar’s smile is pitying.  “My sweet father is a very sick man.  He will never again be free to walk the halls of the home he loves so well.  Surely that deserves some pity?”

Brienne’s glare doesn’t ease.  “Where is your mother now?”

“She’s alive and well and living in an apartment on the opposite side of the house where the Unfortunate Event occurred.  She raised Viserys and Daenerys alone, and they seem to have turned out well enough.  Daenerys, at least, is a rising star.”

Rhaegar stands, his movements slow and languid.  Jaime can see now he’s not simply slender but rail thin, more bone than flesh, and as he strolls towards the sideboard and the bottles there, the orange and red and gold lines in his clothes makes his entire body seem to shimmer like flame.

“I believe I’ve told you all I can,” Rhaegar says as he picks up one of the bottles and refills his glass.

Jaime and Brienne exchange a glance but obediently stand.

“One last question,” Jaime says.  “Where was Lyanna that day?”

For the first time, something like anger flashes on Rhaegar’s face.  “We’re finished here,” he says.  “Gerold will show you out.”

Gerold truly must have had his ear pressed against the double doors because he opens them as they approach, his grizzled face cold and arrogantly haughty.

He leads them to the front door and Jaime turns back immediately after he steps outside. 

“Do you just keep him high all the time?” he asks.

Gerold’s eyes narrow.  “It’s not for you to judge,” he says and closes the door in his face.

*/*/*/*/*

“Well,” Jaime sighs as they drive away, “that was a whole load of nothing.”

“I disagree,” Brienne says, tightening her grip on the steering wheel.  “I’m even more interested in the case files now.”

He turns to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

Brienne glances at him with a half-smile.  “If Rhaegar truly was at that photo shoot during the time of the murder, then he should have been easily cleared of committing the crime.  However, Aerys Targaryen was in the house along with his wife...and seven men who apparently only live to follow a Targaryen’s orders.”

*/*/*/*/*

They order Myrish take-out and Brienne is both relieved and disappointed they’re staying in the offices and there’s therefore no intimate dinner settings or candles.  There isn’t even any wine.

Foolish woman, she growls to herself as she sits across from Jaime in the boardroom, WNN silently playing off to the side.  Pages from their copy of Elia’s case file litter the table along with their now-empty plates.  It’s late, they’ve been reading for hours, and she’s finding it more and more difficult to stay focused on the page in front of her instead of surreptitiously sneaking glances at Jaime’s far-too-handsome face, now creased with a puzzled frown as he reads.

Finally he sighs, tosses the page he’s holding on to the table and leans back in his chair.

“For such a violent crime,” he grumbles, “there was very little physical evidence left behind.  I mean, I would have expected a fingerprint, a footprint...a murder weapon— _something_!”

Brienne nods, scowling, tapping her finger against the list of physical evidence waiting for them in the Gold Cloaks’ evidence archives.  “There’s still Elia’s clothes and apparently a rape kit was done during the autopsy.  We can ask the police to send the clothes and rape kit for testing; see if they can find any foreign DNA somewhere.”

“Detective Tarly may not agree to that if there’s no hint of a new lead,” Jaime warns.

Brienne scowls.  “True,” she reluctantly says, “but you would think a case like this, cold but with potential biological evidence just waiting to be discovered, would be high on their list of cases to re-test.”

“I know,” Jaime says with a sigh, and scrubs a hand over his face.  He frowns down at the papers on the table.  “Is this all of it?” he asks.

Brienne looks again at the inventory then at the memo that accompanied the documents.  She shakes her head.  “There are several calendars, notebooks and daytimers they haven’t copied yet, as well some as investigator’s notes.”

Jaime nods.  “I expect we’ll get those tomorrow, then.”

“I expect so,” Brienne says glumly.

Jaime watches her in silence for a long moment then grins.  “Well, don’t look so downhearted.  If the killer was that obvious, he would have been arrested by now.”  He glances at the television.  “It’s almost midnight.  Let’s put this away for now; I’ll take you home and we’ll start fresh in the morning.”

Brienne’s eyes narrow.  “I drove us today,” she says.

Jaime grins, his green eyes sparkling.  “All right, then how about you take me home and we’ll start fresh in the morning.”  His grin turns wicked.  “You could always spend the night at my place.”

She feels the heat rush into her cheeks and silently curses her fair skin and blushing tendencies.  She hastily looks away and starts gathering papers together.  “I think not,” she says and hides a cringe at how prim and proper she sounds.

Jaime chuckles as he helps her gather the papers and put them back into some semblance of order.

“Are you saying I need to find my own way home?” he asks, scandalized.  “At _this_ time of night?”

She rolls her eyes and he chuckles again.

They make short work of cleaning up and Brienne picks up the remote to turn off the TV and pauses.

“Oh,” she says, “they finally found that missing woman in the Dreadfort.”

Jaime frowns and turns towards the TV as Brienne unmutes it.

“...were found by a hiker in a ravine.  A positive identification may take several days, but it is speculated the remains are those of Lady Donella Hornwood-Bolton, who was officially declared missing ten days ago.  Lady Donella’s husband, Lord Ramsay, is away on a hunting trip and could not be immediately reached for comment.  For more, we go now to—”

Brienne clicks off the TV, her lips pursed with disgust.  “What _is_ it with callous husbands and their dead wives?”

She glances at Jaime and blinks at the expression on his face as he watches her.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice as gentle as the look in his eyes, “but isn’t this why you got into this line of work?  So you could help those who couldn’t help themselves?”

She feels caught by the green depths of his eyes as she slowly nods.

He smiles and says, “Then let’s get some rest and we’ll start again in the morning.  Maybe we can at least find some justice for Elia.”

Brienne nods again then frowns as she follows him out of the boardroom.

“How do you know why I became a private investigator?” she asks.

He shrugs as he opens the office door for her.  “Lucky guess,” he purrs and follows her out.

*/*/*/*/*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N2:**   If anyone knows what the Mafia would be called in Westeros, let me know in the comments!  I wanted to call the Valyrian Company the Valyrian Mafia (in a shout-out to Elvis’ “Memphis Mafia”) but the word doesn’t really fit in this universe. 


	4. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**   Mentions of blood and violence; not graphic but could be disturbing.

***/*/*/*/***

Detective Randyll Tarly is as cold-eyed and disapproving as ever as he escorts them to an interrogation room where the boxes containing the physical evidence from Elia’s case has been placed.

Jaime and Brienne don rubber gloves even though the clothes and sheets and blankets are all still tightly sealed in their separate evidence bags and will remain that way.  Even so, the sight of these remnants of a long ago crime still has an impact:  Brienne’s hand shakes as she picks up the bag with Elia’s torn and bloodstained underwear as, for a moment, she can _see_ what happened, she can _feel_ it, and her fingers clench as she fights a sudden urge to weep for the woman whose life has been reduced to a case number and a pile of plastic bags.

Brienne takes a deep breath and glances at Jaime and sees his face is as grey as hers feels as he stares down at a bag of bloodsoaked sheets.  Something softens inside her at the expression on his face.

Randyll’s laugh is harsh and mocking.  “Is this the first time you’ve seen real physical evidence in a murder case?”

Brienne puts down the bag she’s holding and turns to Tarly with sudden, surprising empathy for the first-hand horrors he deals with every day.

“Yes,” she says, her voice husky, “it’s the first time.”  She clears her throat.  “Have these ever been sent for DNA testing?”

Tarly scowls.  “No,” he snaps, “not yet.”

“What do we have to do to make that happen?” Jaime asks.

“We have to officially reopen the case.”  Tarly shifts uncomfortably beneath their level stare and raised eyebrows.  “Which we have now done, to a certain extent,” he grudgingly admits.  “I’ll be sending these to the lab once we’re finished here.  It may take longer for the results since the case is so cold; we do have active cases we might actually be able to solve.”

“So long as the testing gets done,” Brienne murmurs and turns her attention to the other evidence that’s in the boxes.

She picks up a daytimer while Jaime opens a wall calendar and they silently skim through the pages.  For the most part, the daytimer is innocuous—the day-to-day appointments and activities of a wife of a movie star—but every now and then...

“Jaime,” she says and his shoulder brushes her as she shows him the book.  They both look up at Randyll with puzzled frowns.

“You’ve found what we believe are a person’s initials?” Tarly says.

Brienne nods, scowling back down at the daytimer in her hand.  Scattered on various pages, on various dates, are the letters S, C, and G, sometimes together, sometimes separately, sometimes repeated, sometimes not, sometimes with question marks, sometimes not.

“What’s the theory?” Jaime asks.

Tarly shrugs.  “Everything from lovers she might have had, friends, her favourite restaurants, or mayhaps it’s a reference to her health or mood or what she ate on those particular days.  No one we’ve spoken to has been able to determine a pattern or meaning.”

Jaime and Brienne glance through the notebooks but they’re mostly blank except for lists of groceries and tasks to be done.  Brienne’s heart suddenly twists again because it’s all so... _ordinary_ , especially for a woman living such an extraordinary life and who ended up dead in such a brutal way.

Jaime closes the last notebook.  “If we can have copies of these,” he says, his gesture encompassing the daytimers, calendars and notebooks, “we’d appreciate it.”

Tarly rolls his eyes even as he nods and Brienne grudgingly admits the man at least knows enough to follow his Chief’s orders.

*/*/*/*/*

Bronna pounces the moment they walk into the office.

“Ashara Dayne is in the boardroom,” she hisses.  “She’s been here for over an hour.  I told her I didn’t know when you’d be back but she insisted on waiting.”

Even Brienne recognizes the name:  a Dornish socialite, the darling—and often the target—of tabloids since she burst on the scene thirty years before.

Jaime frowns.  “Does she want to hire us?”

Bronna shakes her head.  “She says she’s here because of Elia Martell.”

*/*/*/*/*

At just shy of fifty, Ashara Dayne is still one of the most beautiful women in the world.  Her hair may now be blackened by dye instead of nature, but her face is as striking as ever and her violet eyes have lost none of their beauty.

She shakes their hands, and when they’re all seated at the table, she says, “I’ve heard you’re investigating Elia’s murder.”

Brienne says, “Do you mind telling us who told you?”

“Normally I would say I must protect my sources, but in this case I think you’ll realize who it is soon enough.  My brother, Arthur, is a member of Rhaegar’s Valyrian Company.”  Her smile is faint.  “He is not well pleased that the case is being—as he says—stirred up all over again.”

She takes in Brienne’s expression at that statement and laughs, a husky sound as beautiful as she is.  “You have to forgive Arthur; he’s been too long employed by one Targaryen or another, and sooner or later you either get sucked in to enabling their behaviour or you go as mad as they are...or mayhaps both.”

“And where did Elia end up?” Jaime asks.

Ashara’s smile is both bitter and sad.  “Elia, I now think, was edging towards madness.”  She stares off into the distance.  “Not that I believed that at the time but...”  She pauses, frowning, then shakes her head.  “I’m sorry; I’m fucking this all up, aren’t I?”

“You’re doing fine,” Brienne says.  “Let’s start at the beginning:  why are you here today?”

“Because I feel responsible.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange another lightning glance.

“Responsible in what way?” Jaime asks.

“I’m the one who introduced Rhaegar to Lyanna.  We were all at the Harrenhal Festival—you’ve heard of it?”

Jaime’s grin is genuinely amused.  “The largest and greatest rock concert in history?  Of course I’ve heard of it!  Who hasn’t?  You were there?”

Ashara’s smile is fond as she nods.  “We didn’t know it was history-making at the time, of course.  I didn’t think anything we did that weekend was going to be history-making!  Robert Baratheon was headlining, of course, the closing act of the weekend, and in the meantime, we were all there on the grounds of Harrenhal, in the tents and the mud, listening to the best rock musicians of the time—legends, all, now—and we spent our time drinking and drugging and dancing and fucking like the young, rebellious children we were.”

Brienne frowns.  “Even Elia?”

“Even Elia, although it was more...Elia’s health was always delicate and by the time we were at Harrenhal, she’d already suffered two miscarriages in three years.  Whatever love that had been keeping her with Rhaegar was rapidly withering and then...”  She shakes her head, staring off into the distance.  “When we were at Harrenhal, I met Brandon Stark.  He was handsome and witty and charming and could fuck all night.  I was smitten...at least for the weekend.  At some point, when we needed a breather, we decided to go find Elia and Rhaegar.  We found Brandon’s brother, Ned, and his sister, Lyanna, on the way so we dragged them along.  Robert had fucked off with several groupies, Lyanna was in no mood to be forgiving, and Rhaegar took one look and became as infatuated with another person as he’s capable of being.  They disappeared together about an hour after they met and we didn’t see them again until a couple of days after the festival ended.”

Brienne scowls.  “And nobody worried about them?”

“Everybody knew what they were doing; we just didn’t know where.”

“And how did Elia react?”

Ashara pauses then says, “Elia was always difficult to read.  She didn’t seem to mind Rhaegar had deserted her for another woman but then, she also disappeared a time or two and returned looking smugly satisfied.”  She glances at Brienne’s face and chuckles.  “Like I said, it was a different time, and Harrenhal was all about sex and drugs and rock and roll.  Although how Ned Stark managed in that environment is anyone’s guess!”  She lifts her shoulders in a careless shrug.  “I was busy most of the time with Brandon so I don’t know for certain everything Elia did.  What I _do_ know is she was in good spirits when the weekend was over and we returned to King’s Landing.  Or mayhaps it’s because we left Rhaegar to find his own damn way home.”

She frowns.  “Mayhaps she wouldn’t have been quite so cheerful if she knew how obsessed Rhaegar would become with Lyanna.”

“Obsessed?” Brienne asks, practically pouncing on the word.

“After Harrenhal, neither of them made much effort to hide their affair, at least not from Elia.  I’m assuming Lyanna was a bit more circumspect with Robert; even then, Big Bobby B was notorious for his temper.  Why Lyanna’s brothers still consider Robert one of their closest friends...”  Ashara shakes her head in disgust.  “Regardless, Rhaegar spent every moment he could with Lyanna.”

“And you know this...?”

“Elia told me.  Plus I was still seeing Brandon—he really was _very_ good—and he was not pleased with Lyanna’s behaviour either.  Although he was torn, because Robert was being such a slut even by the standards of the time and he was publicly humiliating Lyanna even more than Rhaegar was humiliating Elia.”  Ashara grimaces.  “It was an ugly, tense time...but I never expected it to end the way it did.”

“And Elia just...didn’t say anything?”

“Oh, she said many things, especially when something particularly salacious hit the tabloid press, but strangely, she seemed... _grateful_ more than anything that Lyanna was taking Rhaegar off her hands.  Elia always seemed happy enough.  In fact, I suspected she was having an affair of her own, although she always laughed it off and never admitted to anything.”

Ashara shakes her head, an expression of nostalgic yearning on her face.  “It was a different time,” she murmurs, “and we were all so young; _painfully_ young and still immortal...and yet…a year after Harrenhal, Elia was dead and Lyanna missing...”

She stares off into space for a long moment then gives a determined shake of her head.  “Anyway, all of this is why I’ve never truly thought Rhaegar did it.  Elia wasn’t making waves and even if they divorced, it’s not like she needed Targaryen money.  She was a _Martell_ , for the gods’ sakes!  No, I always just assumed it was a secret lover...but mayhaps the Targaryen madness is contagious and affected her more than I knew.”

“What makes you say that?” Jaime asks with a frown.

“Elia had a writing desk, ancient and beautiful and made of oak.  She bequeathed it to me in her will because I had always admired it, and in her will, she said she hoped the desk would guard my secrets as closely as it had guarded hers.  I put it in a place of honor but for years—decades, really—I couldn’t bring myself to actually sit at it.  It wasn’t until the twentieth anniversary of her death that I finally forced myself to use it.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange a puzzled glance and Ashara chuckles although there’s no humor in it.

“I’m sorry; I’ve always been an overly dramatic soul.  I’m just trying to explain why—about three years ago, I discovered what Elia meant about the desk ‘guarding secrets’.  It has hidden compartments, the first of which I discovered by pure accident.  Inside those compartments were these.”

She reaches down beside her chair, and straightens again with five coil-bound notebooks in her hands.  She pushes them across to Jaime and Brienne.

Brienne and Jaime each open one then Brienne blinks as she tries to make sense of the writing inside.

She blinks again and finally understands she’s staring at a solid wall of random letters.  She flips pages to find more of the same until what’s written on the page turns to numbers then letters then numbers again.  She glances over Jaime’s shoulder and sees his notebook looks like hers.

“They’re all the same,” Ashara says.  “Filled from front to back with...gibberish, as far as I can tell.  Elia always enjoyed puzzles and word games, but why keep these hidden if that’s all these were about?”  She shakes her head.  “I don’t know if these are just the scribbles of a woman playing with puzzles, or the ravings of a woman driven mad by her psychopathic father-in-law and her cheating husband.”

“Why didn’t you take these to the police when you discovered them?” Jaime asks.

“I did.  The detective I spoke with told me he couldn’t see how they would be relevant to the case and to do anything I wanted with them.  I couldn’t bring myself to throw them away; Elia herself—or her memory, at least—has already been thrown away and forgotten.  I just couldn’t bring myself to destroy some of the last pieces of her I had left, even if I couldn’t understand the meaning of them.  When I heard you were investigating, I decided I had to bring them here and show you.  I don’t know if they’re important but...I would never forgive myself if I didn’t do everything I could to help.”

Brienne nods as she slowly flips through another notebook.  “You did the right thing,” she murmurs.  “Until we understand what these are, we have no way of knowing their importance, if any.”  She looks over to her.  “Thank you for bringing these to us and for telling us about Elia.”

Ashara nods and stands.  “Anything I can do to help,” she says.  “I miss Elia very much.”

They escort Ashara to the door of the agency where she turns and says, “Oh, I should also warn you that Oberyn Martell is likely on his way and will want to talk with you as soon as possible.”

“Oberyn Martell?” Jaime says, alarmed.  “The Viper?”

“If you think they didn’t know you were investigating Elia’s murder from the moment you agreed, then you don’t know the Martell family at all.  Say what you will about their family... _business_ , no one can deny that Doran and Oberyn _adore_ their sister.  They have not forgotten, and they sure as fuck will never forgive whoever did this.  If you don’t want another murder on your hands, try to have the guilty party in custody before they’re told who it is.  It won’t save the guilty man’s life, but he’ll at least have a few days to get his affairs in order.”  Her lips twist.  “It’ll still be more mercy than the bastard showed Elia.”

*/*/*/*/*

Oberyn Martell calls the next day and invites them for drinks at his hotel.

“We’ve agreed to have drinks with the man known as the Viper,” Jaime grumbles in the car.  “We’re clearly as insane as any Targaryen.”

*/*/*/*/*

Oberyn Martell is a handsome man in his late forties, his lustrous black hair liberally streaked with silver.  He oozes a lusty sensuality that manages to reduce Brienne to a blushing, stammering puddle of sexually frustrated goo within ten minutes.  Jaime rolls his eyes as he watches her and turns up his own charm.  The resulting clash of charisma ups Brienne’s sexual frustration while at the same time makes her heartily grateful Bronna is back at the office, keying in the seemingly endless blocks of text from Elia’s notebooks.

“This is all very entertaining,” Brienne finally says, pulling herself together with an effort, “but I’m sure you didn’t call us here simply to trade witticisms with Jaime all afternoon.”

Oberyn’s smile is pure charm.  “Unfortunately, no, although mayhaps next time.”

Jaime’s smile is equally charming.  “Mayhaps,” he says smoothly.

Oberyn sobers and says, “I, as you no doubt already suspect, called you here to discuss my sister Elia’s murder. I know you’re investigating.”

Jaime and Brienne exchange a glance then nod.

“The police have always assumed Elia was killed because she stood in the way of her husband’s desire for a new life and a new wife,” Oberyn says, “and mayhaps that’s true.  The only reason Rhaegar Targaryen has not yet met with an unfortunate accident is because my sweet brother has the same twisted sense of honor as our sweet sister, which dictates they, as much as possible, do not harm innocents.”

“You run drugs in and out of King’s Landing,” Jaime says flatly.  “Your family owns most of the brothels in Westeros and that’s not even getting into the real estate and investment scams.  This ‘protection of innocents’ is superficial at best.”

Oberyn’s smile is slow and genuinely amused.  “Do you think I’d be sitting here with you now if there was any way to _prove_ any of your allegations?”  His smile fades.  “Be that as it may, times have changed.  We are, whether you believe me or not, a family who owns and operates a vast network of _legitimate_ businesses, and before we were rich, we were just like everyone else:  we were simply trying to make a living.”

Jaime’s skeptical expression doesn’t ease and Oberyn laughs.

“It’s true we did not always play by the rules and that’s one of the reasons why I’ve always been hesitant to point the finger of blame at Rhaegar or Lyanna.  Elia might have been killed for purely personal reasons, true, but given her role in the family business, I’m afraid even I need more concrete evidence before I can confidently tell my brother who murdered our Elia and took her from us far too soon.”

Brienne frowns.  “What role in the family business?”

“We used to call Elia the Lady Commander of our business interests here in King’s Landing and beyond.” 

Brienne’s mouth slowly sags open.

Jaime looks just as shocked as he says, “You’re telling us that Elia Martell Targaryen, the delicate, downtrodden wife of Rhaegar Targaryen, was actually running your criminal enterprises in King’s Landing?”

“Who said they were criminal?  Although I suppose if there _were_ criminal activities and if they _were_ to come to light now, the statute of limitations would have run its course for most of them.”

“ _Elia_?” Brienne sputters, ignoring him.  “Sweet, biddable Elia, who didn’t even blink an eye when Rhaegar publicly humiliated her with his affair with Lyanna?”

Oberyn shrugs.  “Rhaegar might have actually felt a true emotion about Elia if he knew she mainly married him so she could more easily launder our money through him and his family…if we were doing anything that required such a thing.  Although I believe she might have actually been rather fond of him, once.”

He smiles.

“But Elia was not simply our Lady Commander in King’s Landing; her mission was to expand our business interests in the territory north of Dorne and south of the Neck.”  Oberyn frowns.  “We did quite well under her leadership, but at the time of her murder, there were unknown rivals beginning to...hmm...infringe upon our market share, you might say.  After her death, well, a number of rival business interests rushed in to fill the vacuum left behind.  We’re still not near as strong in King’s Landing as we once were.”

Jaime frowns.  “You’re suggesting Elia was murdered because she was running the Martell family business outside of Dorne?”

Oberyn shrugs gracefully.  “Mayhaps; mayhaps not.  That’s the issue:  _we just don’t know_.  At the time, of course, it crossed our minds, but Elia was so very good at flying below the radar—a skill she learned that from our sweet mother.  Even when she was alive, people outside of Dorne were hard-pressed to remember my mother’s name yet she was one of the most powerful people of her day.” 

He grimaces and waves his hand. 

“All of that just to say that, at the time, it seemed far more likely that the police were right and Rhaegar was behind it.  However, as the years have gone by and the first heat of rage has cooled, well...we _did_ lose business after Elia’s death.  _Someone_ profited because she was no longer doing her job, and while slim, it’s a possibility that should no longer be ignored.”

Jaime glances at Brienne before he nods.

“We’ll look into it,” he says.

Oberyn glances from Jaime to Brienne and back again, his eyes sharp.  “Believe me when I tell you that I have not told you all this because I hope to destroy our business rivals.  We do quite well and the business we lost twenty-six years ago does not concern me near as much as the loss of my sweet sister.”  He leans forward, eyes glittering, teeth bared in a caricature of a smile.  “ _I want to know who murdered her!_   Elia has been too long forgotten, too long ignored, and no matter who did this to her, I will see she receives justice.  One way or another.”

*/*/*/*/*


	5. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:** Discussions/descriptions of murder and domestic abuse. Not overly graphic, I don’t think, but may be disturbing.

***/*/*/*/***

Jaime and Brienne spend the next several days helping Bronna and Sam transcribe Elia’s notebooks.  Even Jaime pecks away one-handed and Brienne reluctantly tells him he really _is_ a team player, at least in this case.

It’s slow going and when they finally finish, they order Braavosi takeout and Jaime brings back a Meereenese liquor that has them sputtering and bleary-eyed after one sip.

“Or mayhaps it’s just eyestrain,” Bronna grumbles tiredly.  “I never realized how much easier it is to type something when there’s a recognizable pattern to the letters.  Or numbers.”

Sam nods, wiping his hands as he finishes his last bite of food and leans back in his chair with a contented sigh.  “And just when you think you might be seeing a pattern, it changes again.”  He shakes his head, his eyes straying towards the TV silently playing WNN behind Brienne.  “Or mayhaps we’re just not seeing the patterns anymore because we’ve been too focused on just getting everything keyed in.”

“Thank the gods for computers, huh?” Jaime says with a half-smile.

Sam nods.  “I’d hate to try breaking the codes without one,” he says fervently.  “Not that I think the codes Elia used will be particularly complex once we know what they are, it’s just that she seems to have regularly switched them up.”

“Well,” Brienne says briskly, eyeing her own glass of liquor and wondering if she dare take another sip, “you can start running the decryption program tomorrow while Jaime and I run down everyone with S, C, or G as one of their initials.”

Jaime groans.

“Why are you groaning?” Bronna says.  “I thought you liked talking to suspects and getting out of the office?”

“I do, but all the people with ‘G’ or ‘S’ in their names are members of the Valyrian Company, which means we have to go back to Rhaegar’s version of the Red Keep.”

Brienne raises an eyebrow.

Jaime shrugs.  “He really was the best actor of his generation.  It’s heartbreaking, really, to see what he’s become.”

“He may have also murdered his wife.  Or ordered it, anyway.”

Jaime nods, his face glum.  He looks at Bronna and Sam and says, "Never meet your heroes, kids.”

*/*/*/*/*

Rhaegar is resigned when he sees them again and orders the members of his Valyrian Company to answer whatever questions Jaime and Brienne might have.

They question all six of the white-suit-wearing Valyrian Company so as not to raise suspicions.  They pay particular attention to Barristan Selmy, Gerold Hightower, and Gwayne Gaunt, and make sure they also ask about Harlan Grandison.

In the end, they leave the Targaryen’s Red Keep in puzzled frustration.

“Well,” Jaime says slowly, “they _have_ had twenty-six years to get their stories straight.”

And it’s true:  the stories are remarkably similar with the only significant differences being their physical locations on the estate at the time of the murder.  Each man also had the same impressions of Elia:  pretty enough, quiet, biddable, with the occasional flash of a sweet and gentle sense of humor; fond of puzzles and word games and spending a great deal of time alone.   Other than that, though, outside her connection to Rhaegar, she was virtually invisible to the men of the Valyrian Company.

Brienne’s scowl deepens as she tightens her grip on the steering wheel.  “Even her uncle, though?”

Jaime shrugs.  “Mayhaps he’s the one Martell whose job trumps his family obligations.”

Brienne grunts a little with disgust.  “So what do you think?”

“Well, I’m tempted to think this is like _Murder on the Essos Express_.”

Brienne slides a wary glance his way.

Jaime grins.  “Spoiler alert:  they all did it.”

*/*/*/*/*

Sam is scowling at the computer screen when Brienne and Jaime walk in to his office to check on his progress.

“From the look on your face, you’re not having much luck,” Jaime says.

Sam rolls his eyes.  “Mayhaps you really are a detective,” he mutters then gulps, his eyes widening.  “I—I—I—”

Jaime laughs.  “You _must_ be frustrated if you’re being sarcastic.”

Brienne gives a small shake of her head and says, “What’s the problem?”

Sam sighs.  “I think she used a simple replacement code—one letter standing in for another—only there’s no obvious pattern to the letters.”  He looks at their questioning faces and leans back in his chair.  “When you do a simple replacement code, where one letter is a replacement for another, you still find familiar word patterns.  Three letter words are likely to be ‘the’; single letter words are going to be either ‘a’ or ‘i’; four letter words where the last two letters are the same have a fairly limited pool of possibilities.  But there are none of those recognizable patterns in these notebooks.”  Sam shakes his head as he drums his fingers on his desk.  “There has to be a key somewhere.  Well, a lot of them, actually, because what patterns there _are_ , change regularly.  See, here on this page, we have a preponderance of the letter ‘e’, but five pages later, we have very few 'e’s and a slightly higher number of the letter ‘a’.  So, the first key has multiple letters coded as ‘e’ while the letters are coded more evenly in the second key.”

Jaime frowns.  “What would a key look like?”

Sam shrugs.  “Anything, really, so long as it was close at hand and she could easily refer to it in order to decipher the text.”  He pauses, his face glum, then adds, “And so long as she could tell when and where one key ended and the other began.”

Brienne slowly straightens.

Jaime says, “What are you thinking?”

She looks at him, her eyes gleaming.  “She had other notebooks.”

*/*/*/*/*

They race to Jaime’s office and eagerly paw through the case files.  As she pulls out a couple of folders, Brienne spills the contents of one file onto the floor.  As she scoops up the pages, her eye is caught by something.  She blinks then frowns as she scans the document.

Jaime glances at her.  “What?” he asks as he continues digging through the files in the box in front of him.

“Rhaegar’s statement he gave police,” she mutters absently.

“What about it?” he says then gives a triumphant shout as he finds the folder they’ve been searching for.

Brienne takes the file and hands him the paper she’s holding.  “Read that,” she says and hurries to the door.  By the time she’s asked Bronna to take the file to Sam, Jaime has finished reading and is staring at her with a frown.

“This says Rhaegar was with Lyanna the entire day that Elia was killed,” he says flatly.

Brienne nods.  “But he told us he was at a photo shoot all day.”

Jaime says, “Come to think of it, Dany, too, told us he was with Lyanna, didn’t she?”

Brienne thinks back and nods.  “Yes, I believe she did.”

“But we confirmed Rhaegar was at that photo shoot, didn’t we?”

Brienne nods.

“But if Rhaegar had an airtight alibi, why would he lie to the police?”

They stare at each other in silence, then Brienne says, “To protect Lyanna.”

“And Stark begins with S.”

*/*/*/*/*

Chief Eddard Stark only looks resigned as he walks into the boardroom of Jaime Lannister Investigations and takes a seat.

“You're not surprised we called you,” Jaime says.

“Lyanna is part of this case,” Ned says simply, his hands folded together and resting on the table in front of him.  “And I, of course, saw Lyanna after she left King’s Landing.  Why do you think I recused myself once I agreed to release the case file to you?”

“Did Lyanna kill Elia?” Brienne asks.

Ned’s smile is bittersweet.  “No,” he says, “but she was deathly afraid Rhaegar was behind it even though he didn’t commit the crime himself.  When she learned she was pregnant, she ran because she was terrified that if Rhaegar could order such a brutal thing to be done to Elia then who was to say he wouldn’t do the same thing to her or their baby?”

“Why didn’t she simply say the baby was Robert’s?”

“There was no way it could be Robert’s.  She was too far along and she said she hadn’t allowed Robert to touch her since Harrenhal.  Which made things very... _difficult_  with Robert, especially in those days. He’s volatile now, but at least he’s only fueled by alcohol.  In those days, there were a lot of drugs involved, making things even worse.  There was no telling what he would have done if she had told him she was pregnant by another man.”

“You said Lyanna was terrified Rhaegar was behind the murder and might eventually kill her too...yet she lied and gave him an alibi.”

Ned frowns.  “She didn’t lie.”

“Rhaegar was at a photo shoot for his last movie that day,” Jaime says.  “We’ve confirmed it.”

Ned’s frown deepens as he glances from Jaime to Brienne.

Brienne says, “There was no reason for him to invent an alibi he didn’t need...unless...”

Ned’s eyes widen.  “Unless he was trying to protect Lyanna.”

They sit in silence until Ned finally sighs and says, “I need to make a phone call.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Gods, I never thought it would take this long,” groans the voice of the woman who has not been seen in Westeros for twenty-six years.

“What happened, Lyanna?” Brienne asks as gently as she can.

“To Elia?  I wish I knew— _gods_ , I wish I knew!  I was at home that day, alone.  We’d just wrestled Robert into rehab— _again_ —the night before and I was exhausted.  I slept the entire day, so I knew nothing about what had happened until Rhaegar showed up at my door.  He was in a panic and rambling and told me to tell the police we had been together the entire day.  I refused at first because why would I lie?  And then he grabbed me and he gripped me _so hard_ —I had bruises on my shoulders for weeks—and he looked so much like Aerys in that moment that he scared me.  I mean, _really_ scared me...I had been there once, you know, when Aerys attacked Rhaella and...”  There’s a long pause until Lyanna finally says, softly, “She was all bruised and scratched and Aerys had his hands round her neck by the time the Valyrian Company finally deigned to break down the door for me.  Aerys was raving and Rhaella was screaming and sobbing and _bleeding_ and those _fucking_ assholes just stood there and did nothing to stop any of it.  I have absolutely no doubt that if Rhaegar or Aerys murdered Elia, not a single one of those fucking assholes lifted a finger to stop them.”

“Where was Elia during that incident?”

“She was living in her own wing of the mansion by then and didn’t hear any of it.  She knew what Aerys was like, of course; you couldn’t be around him for any length of time without realizing just how dangerous he was, but those fucking assholes—including Rhaegar—always told her to mind her own damn business…and she told me she couldn’t convince Rhaella to take the chance and leave.  Given what happened later, well…I can’t blame her.  Rhaella, I mean.  Anyway, after Elia was murdered, I knew I had to break away from Rhaegar.  He is his father’s son, and Rhaella said Aerys wasn’t violent either, in the beginning.  I always worried...”

“Worried about what?”

“Worried that mayhaps I drove him to it.  That he murdered Elia because he thought it would clear the way for us.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell the police you lied about your alibi?  Why didn’t you ever tell Ned?”

“I was too afraid to say anything, and Rhaegar was watching me like a hawk.  Those fucking assholes were around me even when he wasn’t and I swear, Lewyn Martell had murder in his eyes whenever he looked at me.  I was getting increasingly desperate and terrified and when I realized I was pregnant, I knew I had to get away.  Besides Rhaegar, there was no telling what Robert would do to me or my baby.  So I took the first chance I got and thank gods it was before I started showing!  I did my best to disappear and keep my son with me but…it was no life for a baby.  Jon was four months, three days and fifteen minutes old when I called Ned to come get him.”

Jaime turns to Ned.  “And you hid his identity so no one would realize you knew where Lyanna was?”

“Although it wasn’t quite that simple.  You have to understand what was happening all those years ago.  Robert was in incredibly bad shape.  When Lyanna disappeared, he went on the bender to end all benders and was in and out of rehab for at least five years before he finally stayed clean for more than a couple of weeks.  I honestly thought he was going to die.  His career crashed and burned because of it all; he was broke and viciously angry...which is why when he reinvented himself through the lighthearted techno-pop of the BeeBees, it was such a welcome shock to everyone.  There's no doubt Renly was the creative force behind _that_ group!  Still, Robert was back on top and relatively sober, and my concerns about how he would react if he learned the truth about Jon were easing…but that was nine years after Elia’s murder.  As for Rhaegar, well, a year or so after Elia’s murder, he, too, was in rehab and his father was in a psychiatric hospital.”  Ned scrubs his hands over his face.  “It was just better to keep Jon as my son.”  He glares at Brienne.  “Until you had to go looking for his mother.”

“Catelyn and Jon hired me, Ned.  They both wanted to know the truth.”

Ned’s shoulders slump.  “I know.”

“Do Robert and Rhaegar know you’re alive, Lyanna?” Jaime asks.

“I don’t know,” Lyanna says.  “I sincerely hope not.”

“And you swear you had nothing to do with Elia’s murder?”

“I swear.”

*/*/*/*/*

“Do you believe her?” Jaime asks once they’re alone.

Brienne shrugs, helpless.  “She has no alibi and she could have just as easily hired somebody to murder Elia as Rhaegar.”

“Except she ended up alone and in hiding.”

“The best laid plans...” Brienne mutters then looks up at a knock on the door.

Sam pokes his head in, eyes shining.  “It worked,” he says.

*/*/*/*/*

The information in Elia’s carefully hidden and encrypted journals is surprisingly innocuous...or as innocuous as the recordings of the day-to-day operations of a crime syndicate can be.  The notebooks are ledgers, of sorts, listing debts owed and repaid supplemented with notes about her contacts, their families, and any particular concerns or weaknesses.

Brienne shakes her head.  “How could Elia be doing all of this and nobody noticed?”

Jaime glances at her, amused.  “People see what they expect to see and Elia, I think, played her part perfectly. Everyone was so convinced she was a bland, subdued woman that even if she were to tell them to their faces what she was really doing, no one would have believed her.”

Brienne shakes her head as she continues reading.  “Do you think she enjoyed it?  Living her double life, I mean?”

“I hope so,” Jaime says, suddenly vicious.  “I hope she got off on pulling one over on everyone, especially Rhaegar.  I hope one of her greatest pleasures in life was the fact that no one truly knew who she was and what she was doing.”

Brienne glances up at him, blinking with surprise.  He gives her a half-shrug as he steadily meets her eyes.

“Look at how she died,” he says, “and look how she’s been remembered by her husband.  I just...I just really hope she enjoyed her life, that’s all.”

Brienne blinks again as they stare at each other in suddenly charged silence before she clears her throat and says, “I hope so, too.”

She blushes as she returns her attention to the tablet in front of her and continues scrolling through the decoded text.

Jaime returns to his own reading, humming beneath his breath.  They read in companionable silence until Jaime says, “Here’s something interesting.”

Brienne jumps a little and turns to look at him.  He motions her closer and they bend their heads over the screen.

“Her profits from one particular illegal gambling den are suddenly much lower than the previous month,” Brienne mutters.

Jaime nods as they move to the next page, then the next.

“Oberyn was right,” Jaime says.  “Somebody was moving into their territory—and quite successfully, too, by the looks of it.”

“And she’s not pleased about it.”

They read on, Elia’s notes outlining who she’s leaning on for information and what she’s gleaning.  There's a true sense of growing frustration that whoever it is has managed to frighten her various informants and ‘partners’ even more than the Martell name can achieve.  Things turn darker as Elia reports a child’s broken leg here; a wife’s rape there; a house fire or an office fire; a sudden fatal accident.  Now, along with the frustration is a growing anger, especially at the harm being done to innocents.

They continue reading until Jaime hisses in a sudden breath.

“I remember this,” he says, tapping a finger against the screen.  “The destruction of the Saltpans made the news everywhere.  A single fire, set by an arsonist they never found, and an entire town burned to the ground.  As far as I know, they never found the person responsible.”

Brienne frowns as she scans the text.  “And Elia thinks it’s the work of this mysterious family that’s muscling in on her territory.”

They continue reading, learning of Elia’s efforts to discover who was responsible for the destruction of the Saltpans and the terrorization of the network she had so carefully cultivated.  It’s fascinating reading until Brienne gasps and puts her finger on a name.  She turns and looks at Jaime, whose face is grim.

“I should have fucking known,” he growls.

“Sandor Clegane,” she says.

“And his brother, Gregor.”

“S.”

“G.”

“And C.”

*/*/*/*/*

They phone Detective Randyll Tarly to tell him what they’ve discovered.

“Would either Clegane brother be in the system?” Brienne asks.

“Fuck, yeah, they’re in the system!” Tarly snaps and she can almost hear his eyes rolling.  “Whether they’re in DROGON is the more important question!”

Brienne winces because she knows he’s right.  DROGON may compare DNA collected during active investigations against evidence collected during other cases all across Westeros, but if neither of the Clegane brothers have been identified as the donors of the DNA in the system, then the best they can hope for is a match to an unidentified perpetrator.

Tarly adds, “With their reputations, and the fact they’re definitely guilty of _something_ , they’re not about to voluntarily give us samples of their DNA. Well, Gregor might if he could piss in the face of whoever’s unfortunate enough to ask him for one.”

Brienne frowns.  She knows the reputations of the Clegane brothers, of course—anyone who works in anything touching on law enforcement in King’s Landing did—but she has never actually seen either man in the flesh.  If even half the rumors are true, she has no desire to, either.

“And we have no probable cause to get a warrant for their DNA, do we?” Jaime says thoughtfully.

Tarly snorts so loud they almost expect the speaker on the phone to explode.

“You found their names in encrypted notebooks that were hidden for the last twenty-six years, and that’s the only time their names have ever been mentioned in connection to Elia Martell-Targaryen.  No, there’s no fucking probable cause!”

He’s still muttering curses under his breath as they end the call.

Brienne glances at Jaime’s thoughtful expression.

“What are you thinking?” she asks suspiciously.

Jaime gives her a slow, seductive smile, and she gulps a little as she feels a slight tremble in her knees.

“Do you still have that silver dress and those heels?” he purrs.

She scowls.  “Are you mad?  Of course not!  I returned them to Tyrion as soon as I possibly could.”

Jaime looks crestfallen.  “Pity.”

“Why?”

“Because I think we should go dancing and drinking tonight.”

“What?”

“At the DragonPit.  And mayhaps, if one of the brothers happens to be there and happens to be drinking or smoking or eating...”

Comprehension dawns and Brienne slowly smiles.

“I suddenly feel like dancing,” she says.

*/*/*/*/*

When they arrive, they discover the DragonPit is closed for a private party:  the engagement party of Joffrey Baratheon and Sansa Stark.

Jaime never even falters as he smiles and says, “Oh, good; we’re old friends of the families.  We’ll just step in, say hello, then let the young people get on with their fun.”

The bouncer is the same orange-haired, bearded man who had been working the night they were chasing after Arya.  As before, he ignores Jaime to leer at Brienne.

“Do I get my kiss this time if I let you in?” he says.

She rolls her eyes.  “How about you let us in and I promise not to neuter you?”

Tormund’s eyes gleam.  “What a woman,” he sighs and steps aside.

*/*/*/*/*

“I’d be a little worried about security if I were the Cleganes,” Brienne mutters once they’re safely inside.

“Well, hopefully he doesn’t have a crush on every long-legged blonde he sees,” Jaime says.

Brienne rolls her eyes.  “Well, he certainly doesn’t have a crush on you!”

Jaime laughs as Brienne blushes and she’s thankful when they walk into the wall of noise that’s the DragonPit.

They scan the crowded room, and Brienne sees Sansa held tight to Joffrey’s side, and, literally on the other side of the room, Brienne sees Arya and Gendry and the members of Arya’s band, the Faceless Men.

“I can’t believe Joffrey Baratheon has this many friends,” Jaime yells into her ear.

Brienne bites back a laugh and shouts back, “I don’t see anyone who matches the descriptions of the Clegane brothers.”

“Maybe they’re in the back.”

There’s a sudden commotion and they turn to see Joffrey shouting and advancing on a black-and-silver-haired man, who’s watching him with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile.  Joffrey raises his fist and while they can’t quite see what happens, they do see that Joffrey doubles over while Sansa and everyone else who’s around them gasp and rush to his aid.

Jaime presses close to Brienne and hisses, “What the fuck is Oberyn Martell doing here?”

Oberyn’s already melting away into the crowd as he looks over and their eyes meet.  His half-smile turns into a full-blown, charming smirk and then he’s gone.

They push their way forward and catch sight of him at a door beside the stage.  He pauses and glances over his shoulder at them before he opens the door and slips through.

“Asshole,” Jaime mutters as they hurry to follow him.

“How would he know?” Brienne asks in a low voice once they’re through the door and in the T-shaped hallway beyond. As they hurry down the hall, they catch sight of a door slowly swinging closed.

Jaime shakes his head as he reaches the door first and opens it.  They step into a small reception area with two rooms opening off it.  It’s eerily silent and Brienne feels a cold chill run down her back.  They creep towards the first room, only to find it empty.  When they look into the second room, they find two of the largest men they’ve ever seen unconscious and tied to chairs, blood dripping from their noses.

“Sweet Seven,” Brienne yelps and they rush towards them.

“This one’s alive,” Jaime says, his fingers pressed against the neck of the smaller of the two men who also has hideous scars on one side of his face.

“This one, too,” Brienne says and goes limp with relief.  She fumbles for her phone to call 911 even as she watches Jaime glance round the office, then grab two post-it notes.  He proceeds to soak the corner of one then the other in the blood sluggishly dripping from the men’s noses.

Brienne doesn’t know if she should be horrified by his actions or impressed even as she holds out a plastic bag for each blood-stained post-it note.  Jaime then scrawls “Scarface” on one of the bags as Brienne continues her call with the 911 operator, telling them there are no obvious wounds that she can see; the men’s breathing is even; pulses are steady; and she promises they’ll secure the scene as well as they can until the Gold Cloaks and paramaesters arrive.

*/*/*/*/*

They’re questioned through the night and long into the next day, but Jaime still manages to convince Randyll Tarly to take the blood-soaked post-it notes for DNA testing.

“How you obtained these samples would torpedo this case in court,” Tarly growls.

“If I was a police office, maybe,” Jaime says.  “As it is, I’m a concerned citizen who not only stumbled upon a crime in action but has also come to you with a tip and potentially new evidence in a high-profile cold case.  I didn’t tie those two men to their chairs or caused their noses to bleed; I simply saw an opportunity and took it.”

Tarly mutters darkly beneath his breath but takes the bags anyway.

*/*/*/*/*

Three days later he calls them with the results:  there’s a match.

“If you labelled the bags correctly, it’s Gregor Clegane.  He’s the one without the scars on his face.”

“Does this give you probable cause now for a warrant?” Jaime asks.

“Not yet,” Tarly growls.  “Even though you’re not a Gold Cloak, the prosecutors are concerned a judge will throw out the DNA match as fruit of the poisoned tree.  _Somebody_ told Oberyn Martell the Clegane brothers were suspects.  And _somebody_ obviously helped him subdue the men and knew you were on your way to the DragonPit.  In order to make a stronger case for court, we’ll be doing a little detective work of our own.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne spend the next several days re-reading the case file and their copies of Elia’s encrypted notebooks .  They run down leads and interview those people they can identify, trying to find any indication other than Elia’s own words that she was on a collision course with the Clegane brothers.  With Sam and Bronna’s help, they cross-reference the days Elia noted their initials in her daytimer with what seem to be the related entries in the encrypted notebooks.  Slowly, the story of her last few months of life becomes more and more clear as they discover the dates correspond to notations about Elia’s conversations with the people she suspects were witnesses to events that were terrorizing people in King’s Landing and elsewhere, like the Saltpans.

Jaime and Brienne track down those witnesses who are still alive and discover they’re all still too terrified to do much more than stare at them with wide, haunted eyes before they turn away.

Finally, one night in their boardroom, Brienne leans back in her chair and stares sightlessly at WNN, barely registering the breaking news headline announcing that the body found earlier near the Dreadfort is that of an unidentified female and that Lady Donella Hornwood-Bolton is still missing.

“Elia was trying to bring them to justice,” she mutters.

Jaime wearily rubs the bridge of his nose and nods.  “Some form of justice, anyway.”

“Is that why he did it, do you think?  Not because she was the head of a rival crime family or because she was married to Rhaegar Targaryen or even because he’s just a sadistic rapist-murderer, but because she was trying to make him pay for everything he’d done?”

Jaime’s face is grim.  “I don’t know,” he says.  He frowns down at his tablet, where a page from Elia’s notebook is displayed, and Brienne feels something soften inside her at the expression on his face.  

“I think I would have liked her,” he says.  “The _real_ her, I mean.”

“Me, too,” Brienne says sadly and closes the file.

*/*/*/*/*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N1:** I’m like Jaime; I really hope canon!Elia enjoyed her life before she met such a brutal end. And it’s no secret that, as far as I’m concerned, the canon!Kingsguard and canon!Rhaegar can shove their swords up their asses and spin.
> 
>  **A/N2:** DROGON=DNA Registry or Genetics Organization Network. Before you judge, remember that the UK police uses something called HOLMES which stands for Home Office Large Major Enquiry System. ;D
> 
>  **A/N3:** Everything I know about law and criminal cases I’ve learned from Law and Order, CSI, and true crime documentaries. Whether Jaime’s collection of the Clegane brothers’ DNA would actually be considered fruit of the poisoned tree is debatable but better safe than sorry, right?


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warnings:**  Mentions of rape and blood.

***/*/*/*/***

Daenerys Targaryen and Ashara Dayne listen intently as Jaime and Brienne explain everything they discovered.

“Running the King’s Landing arm of the Martell family business,” Dany says with wondering surprise once they’ve finished, “that…does not match _anything_ I’ve ever been told about Elia.”

“She deliberately kept things secret,” Brienne says.  “It’s why she was so successful.”

“And we’re sure it was Gregor Clegane who murdered her?” Ashara asks, her violet eyes cold.

“Yes, we’re sure,” Jaime says.  “The rape kit didn’t yield any usable DNA but it did show whoever raped Elia has aspermia—that is, he doesn’t produce any sperm.  However, when they analyzed the nightgown Elia was wearing, they found Gregor Clegane’s blood mixed with hers.”

Dany frowns.  “How did that happen?”

“Clegane isn’t talking,” Brienne says, “but it could have happened in any number of ways.  He could have injured himself while he was committing the crime…or Elia fought back and scratched him or gave him a bloody nose or something.”  She presses her lips together and looks away. “Regardless of how it happened, it’s a much stronger piece of evidence.”

“How so?”

“Even if they could prove Clegane is infertile, he could claim he was having an affair with Elia, they had consensual sex that day and somebody else killed her after he left.  But there’s no way to explain how his blood ended up mixed with hers on her nightgown.”

“Where is he now?” Ashara asks.

“In jail,” Jaime says, “and with luck, no judge will grant him bail.”

Ashara’s smile is bitterly amused.  “Judges grant bail all the time.  He should stay in jail if he knows what’s good for him.”

Jaime raises an eyebrow.  “Oberyn Martell?”

“Doran and Oberyn are legitimate businessmen…but they have not forgotten their sister or their roots.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jaime and Brienne escort Ashara and Dany to their office door, where Ashara hesitates then turns to Dany.

“I’ve just remembered there’s something else I need to talk to Jaime and Brienne about.  No need to wait for me; I’ll meet you in the car.”

Dany nods, says good-bye and leaves them.

Jaime and Brienne watch Ashara with politely questioning expressions and she slowly smiles.

“Thank you,” she says.  “You truly have no idea how relieved I am to finally have an answer.”

Brienne shifts uncomfortably and nods.  “We were just doing our jobs,” she mutters.

Ashara chuckles.  “I know.  Still.  Like I said the last time I was here, Elia was my friend and I loved her very much.  Those were great days before they all went wrong.  I would have cherished those moments all the more if I’d known…”  She shakes her head, waving her words away.  “Treasure the precious moments when you see them; they always disappear far too soon.”

Jaime glances at Brienne and is caught by her guileless blue eyes.

Ashara chuckles, startling him.  “I’m sorry; this isn’t why I stayed behind.”

Jaime and Brienne raise eyebrows in question but say nothing.

Ashara leans closer.  “You may want to check beneath your boardroom table and your desks.”  She straightens.  “The Martells do not like leaving anything to chance.”

*/*/*/*/*

They find the bugs easily enough once they know what to look for, and in the boardroom, Brienne takes great pleasure in smashing them to bits with her shoe.

“I hope that deafened whoever was listening,” she growls.

Jaime laughs.  “Well, it’s our own fault.  The boardroom and offices are out of sight of the reception area and Ashara had the run of the place for at least an hour.”

“I’ll have Sam install cameras tomorrow,” Brienne grumbles.

Jaime puts his arm round her shoulders and begins to guide her out of the boardroom.  “That’s tomorrow,” he says, his voice soothing.  “For today, let’s go to an afternoon matinee then for something to eat.”

Brienne digs in her heels.  “It’s only one o’clock!”

“Which is why it’s an afternoon matinee.  Come on, they’re playing _Scarface_ at the Blackwater.  Al Paenymion, Myrcella Piper, 1983.”

“What’s it about?” she asks suspiciously.

“A Myrish immigrant takes over a drug cartel.  I thought it was appropriate, considering Sandor Clegane’s unfortunate scars.”

She scowls.  “We’re working, Jaime!”

“We’ve just finished a case, Brienne!  A tough one, too!”  He turns her to face him and says, suddenly serious, “It really _was_ a tough one, in more ways than one.  Come on.  Let’s make some of those moments Ashara mentioned and hold on to them with all our might.”  He frowns.  “Are you worried about Hyle?”

She blinks her glorious eyes and he sees she’s genuinely confused.  “Hyle who?  You mean _Hyle Hunt_?  From the movie?”

He slowly smiles.  “I take it your date didn’t end well, then.”

She blushes and mutters, “I didn’t call him.”

His smile widens as he once again urges her towards the reception area.  He winks at Bronna as he opens the door and ushers Brienne through.  “Well, that means there’s even more cause for celebration!  I’ll even spring for dinner now!”

*/*/*/*/*

They watch _Scarface_ then eat a leisurely meal during which Jaime finally convinces Brienne to take in the early movie at seven and out for a drink afterwards.

He teases her unmercifully and notes with interest every shade of pink and red she turns while always admiring the remarkable blue of her eyes.  Conversation flows more easily than he had hoped and his conscience doesn’t begin to raise its head until she’s driving him to his apartment.

He has a sudden urge to invite her up for a nightcap but as he turns in the car and opens his mouth, his gold hand catches the light of the streetlamp and stops him in his tracks.

Brienne blinks, her forehead creased with a puzzled frown as she looks at him.

He quickly recovers and says, “Thank you, Brienne, for playing hooky with me.”  He reaches for her hand and lifts it to his lips.  He brushes a light kiss against her knuckles and says, “Sleep well.”

*/*/*/*/*

He doesn’t go into his apartment building until she’s driven away.

He curses himself as he rides the elevator to his floor.  Brienne is a good person, he tells himself, and she deserves more than a casual affair, which is all he can offer her.  Besides, he likes her and being _The_ Jaime Lannister too much to do anything that would jeopardize their relationship.

Or, he ruefully admits as he opens the door to his apartment, his chance to hold down a legitimate job.

He drops his keys on the side-table by the door, toes off his shoes and pads his way to his bedroom, pulling his shirt out of his pants and unbuttoning it as he goes.

He flicks on the bedroom light and stops short.

“Hello, darling,” Cersei purrs, sitting up in his bed and blinking against the light, the blankets held to her naked breasts in mock modesty.  “Have you missed me?”

*/*/*/*/*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:**  BWAhahahaha!


End file.
